


Only the Dead

by Sabishiioni



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 'Nam centric jargon, 'Nam fic, Alternate Universe - Vietnam, Gen, Modern AU, TW: meantion of snakes, TW: trapped in small places, Tet, tw: death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabishiioni/pseuds/Sabishiioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, in a land far away…</p><p>That’s how stories and fairytales are supposed to start, right? But this isn’t a fairytale. This is a history of a proud people- a history soaked in blood and sacrifice that didn’t happen so very long ago. In fact, it started in 1940, in a tiny country called Vietnam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Musketeers  
> Warnings: Read them  
> Follow Me (My Personal Blog): [Tumblr](http://sabishiioni.tumblr.com/)  
> Follow PI (My Writing Blog): [Tumblr](http://projectinsanitywriting.tumblr.com/)  
> Mindless Babble: Originally, this was supposed to be a series of one chapter stories. I had a lot of ideas for them including a heart wrenching ending. It didn't do so well so Tumblr, so I finished what I had and ended it. If you like it, let me know. I have wasted many hours researching for this fic.
> 
> I used [this site](http://www.ichiban1.org/html/history_glossary.htm) for most of the jargon.

Prologue  
Once upon a time, in a land far away…

That’s how stories and fairytales are supposed to start, right? But this isn’t a fairytale. This is a history of a proud people- a history soaked in blood and sacrifice that didn’t happen so very long ago. In fact, it started in 1940, in a tiny country called Vietnam.

The French had held this country since 1858, only losing control of it to the Japanese from 1940 to 1945. In 1946, the French Indochina War broke out lasting eight years. When the French were defeated by the nationalist groups such as Ho Chi Minh’s Viet Minh on May 7, 1954 at the battle of Dien Bien Phu, they finally left the country. This battle resulted in the final Geneva Accords to establish the 17th parallel as a dividing line between North and South Vietnam.

In 1965, the first of the active combat troop joined the U.S. advisors who had been there since the 1950s. By the following year, it was estimated that 500,000 U.S. troops were stationed in Vietnam to support the South while China and the Soviet Union supported the communist North. Eight years later, the cost of the war became too much, especially since it was tearing apart the U.S. at home, and troops were withdrawn. In 1975, the North launched a full-scale invasion and defeated the South, becoming a unified nation once again under communist rule.

In the end, it is estimated that over 3 million people were killed. American KIAs numbered around 58,000. Vietnam reported losing 2 million of its people, both civilians and troops, 3 million were wounded and 12 million became refugees.

But what do all these figures and dates mean? Nothing. They mean nothing unless a human aspect is involved. These were not just numbers. They were fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. They were brother and sisters and childhood friends. They were young men and women, far from home. They were young men and women who no longer had homes. The moment people lose sight of the idea that “they” were people, the moment when human lives become nothing more than statics and numbers, humanity is forfeited. Both sides lost so much and for what? To become a number? A statistic?

They were people…

**Only the Dead**

“Look at all those cherries…”

Athos looked up at the men coming off the green painted school bus. They were all squeaky clean with identical crew cuts and uniforms. Personal experience had taught him that wouldn’t last long. He sighed and returned to cleaning his weapon until Porthos spoke up.

“That one is no cherry.”

Blinking, the lieutenant again lifted his head, immediately spotting the man. Dark hair hung longer than was regulation, framing a face that at first seemed too young to be carrying the M-16 slung over the lean shoulders. His uniform had seen better days as had the ruck hanging off his other shoulder. He stopped by the bus, sharp almond-shaped eyes searching.

“He looks a little lost,” Aramis said standing up.

“Don’t get involved. Isn’t that what yer always sayin’ ta me?” Porthos growled.

Aramis lifted a shoulder. “There are times for that. Those times are when they want us to go into the boonies and get shot. Right now, I want to meet this boy.”

Athos sighed, setting his weapon on the table to follow the medic. He heard his sergeant reluctantly follow him, and smiled to himself. Porthos tried to come off as gruff, but in his heart, he was probably just as excited to meet this new-comer as Aramis was.

“Anything we can help you find…Corporal…?” Aramis asked, catching sight of the muted patch on the man’s sleeve.

“D’Artagnan. I’m looking for the commanding officer.”

“I’ll take you to Treville,” Athos spoke up, earning him a salute from the younger man. Sighing he returned it. “I’m Athos. This is my sergeant, Porthos and the bandaid is Aramis.”

The young corporal looked at the three, confusion plain on his face. It was Aramis who came to the rescue after a moment of amusement. Athos figured it would be. It wasn’t often that one would find three different ranks spending time together, especially when one of them was a brother.

“We bonded after a hike left us stranded in the boonies for a week. Rank be damned.”

Athos saw a bit of light enter d’Artagnan’s eyes, which until now held the same dead like quality that Aramis’ had after the Tet offensive. It had been a struggle, but the month spent in a Japanese hospital and the five surround by his friends since, Aramis had improved to the point where he was as close to what he once was as the man would ever be able return to. It made Athos wonder what the boy had seen to take his light.

“My last commanding officers were a bit like that,” the youngest quietly admitted before bowing his head.

“So you’re a transfer?” Aramis asked, seeing what Athos had seen as well.

“I suppose. I had nothing to come back to, so they sent me here.” 

“Come back ta? Where have ya been?” Porthos asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I was in the states to bury my murdered father,” d’Artagnan spat out, his head lifting to glare at the sergeant. “I was told of his death in the hospital after my firebase was overrun by VC…”

Porthos tensed, ignoring the warning looks Athos was giving him. “So yer firebase was overrun, but ya lived. How convenient!”

Any light in those dark brown eyes was wiped out at the taunt. “I was buried in a collapsed bunker. The medics told me I was down there for three days. I was the only survived because a beam created a small air pocket and saved me from being crushed.”

Athos failed to suppress the shudder of horror that that flowed down his spine. It was no wonder the boy was dead on the inside. Three days of suffocating darkness, surrounded by the bodies of friends... And then to be told of the death of a family member while recovering- it would drive anyone insane. His respect for the soldier grew. He could see that both Aramis and Porthos were feeling the same.

Porthos backed down. “Fair enough. I’m sorry fer yer loss.”

The words, spoken with sincerity, seemed to have a calming effect on d’Artagnan. “Thank you. I’m sorry for blowing up at you, Sir.”

Waving the apology off, Porthos smiled. “I deserved that. Now come on. Ya need ta see Treville and then Aramis can get ya settled with a bunk.”

D’Artagnan almost smiled as the larger man draped an arm over his shoulder to guide him. Athos shook his head as Aramis smothered a chuckle. Apparently, the Three Inseparables had now become Four.  
***

Aramis watched as the younger man unpacked his meager belongings, stowing them in a footlocker near the bunk the medic said was now his. He noticed there were very few personal affects- a picture of a pretty girl, a deck of worn cards and a class ring. D’Artagnan said nothing as he put them at the bottom of the chest before putting the rest of his gear on top of them.

“You have a girl back in the world?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “No. She was my high school sweetheart, but she broke up with me when I got my papers. She’s married now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The only response was a simple shrug of the shoulders. “I had a girl too. Her name was Isabel. Beautiful woman. I almost married her.”

At that, d’Artagnan looked up at him. “Why didn’t you?”

“I got her pregnant but she lost the baby. It was just too painful for her so…” Aramis mimicked his new friend’s shrug, though it was horribly forced.

“You still love her.”

Aramis snorted at the boy’s observation and decided that d’Artagnan would be an excellent point man when they were humping the boonies. “Yes, but, it’s okay. There are other women in this world. Like Anne!”

Rolling up the ruck, d’Artagnan stuffed it in the locker and sat on the bed next to the medic. “Who’s Anne?”

“The most beautiful nurse in the world! I met her in a hospital in Japan.”

“Japan?” D’Artagnan blinked, obviously confused. 

Aramis bowed his head. “Tet.”

Deep brown eyes widened in shock and awe. “Shit! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories!”

“It’s alright. I…I’m still working through it but I’m getting better. Athos and Porthos help.”

“My unit…We were called in to help out another base.” The younger man lowered both his voice and his head. “There wasn’t much left to save when we got there.”

Aramis slung an arm over the lean shoulders, give a one armed hug. “Nightmares?”

“All the time.”

“Then…I think you and I will become very good friends.”  
***

Athos sat down with Porthos and Aramis, not really surprised to see the young man with them. He picked up his fork, pausing to note how the boy was wolfing down his food. He had seen similar behavior in older men who had spent too much time on the edge. To see it in one so young was disturbing. A glance at his two friends confirmed that they too were worried.

“D’Artagnan, the food is not going to run away,” Aramis chided, only half joking.

An expression of confusion replaced the usual dead look as the corporal finally lifted his head. “What?”

“This isn’t a firebase. You are safe here…well, safer. You don’t need to inhale your food.”

D’Artagnan stared at Aramis for a moment before turning his head to look at the other two. Finally, he said, “The food here is good…”

Athos blinked in understanding. This wasn’t the c-rats the boy was probably used to eating. No wonder he was eating like he was starving- he probably was.

“Be that as it may, I would really hate to have to fill out your death form with ‘choked to death on a piece of bread’. Now please slow down.”

Smirking, d’Artagnan returned to his food, but eating it at a much slower pace.

“So, what’s yer MO?” Porthos asked, as he scrapped the remainder of his meal onto the younger man’s tray.

“Sniper.”

Athos saw Aramis’ eyebrows shoot up and smiled. “Looks like you might have some competition.”

“Actually…that’s my secondary one.” D’Artagnan set his fork down when it became apparent that his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I…I was a tunnel rat for a long time. I know all the tricks- two steps in hanging bamboo, punji stick traps, mines…”

The three men stared in horror. Athos was just starting to understand what took this man’s light. Being a tunnel rat in ‘Nam was almost a death sentence. The VC would disappear into the massive network of tunnels and anyone who followed would most likely not return, at least not whole. He had gone into the tunnels once and swore he would never do it again.

“What happened?” Porthos asked softly.

“A tunnel collapsed, trapping me. There…there were rats…and it…it was so dark…I couldn’t breathe and…and …”

Aramis reached across the table to lay a hand on the one that was clawing the wood. “It’s alright, d’Artagnan- you’re not there. You’re safe.”

D’Artagnan gave him a shaky smile. A full minute passed before he was able to speak again. “Why…why did Porthos say that I was competition?”

“’Cause the bandaid here was a sniper before…” Porthos trailed off, not wanting to bring up bad memories.

Aramis forced a smile. “Before Tet. After that, I had a hard time holding a weapon, so I fell back on me secondary MO.”

D’Artagnan nodded in complete understanding. “The thought of having to go into a tunnel makes me sick, like throwing up sick.”

“Sounds like it all worked out in the end,” the medic replies, his features softening into something real. 

“And on that note, I have a meeting with Treville,” Athos said as he stood up. “I will catch up with you later.”

Porthos smirked at their newest member. “So d’Artagnan- how do ya feel 'bout cards?”

Aramis scowled at the sergeant. “Don’t you dare try to cheat the boy on his first day here!”

A laugh had both of them turning to stare at the corporal. Aramis couldn’t help but to notice how young he looked when he laughed. Or how handsome.

“I thought cheating was part of the game!”

“Ha! I knew I liked ya fer a reason! Come on- let’s see how good ya are!” Porthos stood and threw an arm over the smaller man’s shoulders, leading him from the table and towards his bunk. Aramis grinned and followed, secretly thrilled that d’Artagnan fit so seamlessly in with their odd little group.


End file.
